


Harder To Breathe

by robin_writes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cancer, F/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Research, Sharing a Bed, super sad, you are bobby's daughter, you are dying, you are really sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_writes/pseuds/robin_writes
Summary: The moment you heard about your diagnosis, you called your father. It had been almost seven years since you last spoke to the secretive Mr Bobby Singer, you wanted to help him hunt and he thought you didn’t fully understand the danger. It’s safe to say you inherited your stubbornness from him.You meet Sam and Dean Winchester when you move back home. Dean is a little overprotective. But then you get really sick. Lots of emotions. Lots of sadness. But also Dean wants to sell his soul to save you. It's like Dean's way of saying he loves you.





	Harder To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Harder To Breathe' by Maroon 5

The moment you heard about your diagnosis, you called your father. It had been almost seven years since you last spoke to the secretive Mr Bobby Singer, you wanted to help him hunt and he thought you didn’t fully understand the danger. It’s safe to say you inherited your stubbornness from him.

“H’llo?” Bobby Singer’s gruff voice came over the phone after it stopped ringing.  
“Dad, it’s (Y/N).” You grew nervous all of a sudden.  
“Kid? What’s the matter?”  
“I’m sick. Can I come home?” Your voice wavered and it was like you were eleven again, in trouble because you’d run away to Bobby’s house after a particularly bad fight with your mum.  
“Of course you can. Yer always welcome here.” He sounded confident. Technically you never lived there permanently, only spending the occasional summer break up in Sioux Falls. But it felt like home with the musty books and the lived-in aura. “How bad is it?” He said quieter.  
“Bad. I’ll see you by dinner.” You weren’t too far away from Sioux Falls.   
“Okay, stay safe.” Despite his adamancy that you weren’t going to be a hunter, Bobby had still taught you how to protect yourself. It was a fine line between survival and hunting but somehow he negotiated it and you decided you wouldn’t become a hunter. Not that the world didn’t fascinate you, you were just not stupid enough to get involved with it.

Your apartment lease was meant to run out in the next week, so you left a message with your landlord saying you weren’t planning on renewing it, and then you packed all your stuff up in the 1980 Ford pickup truck Bobby had given you for your birthday one year. You didn’t have a lot of stuff, the furniture was all rented, coming with the apartment. 

More than half of your bags were filled with books. Any and all genres were welcome; fiction, non-fiction, sci-fi, romance, you weren’t picky. But it made for an impressive collection. 

The drive up to the Singer Salvage Yard was spent in silence mostly. You would usually push a CD in before you set off, but in your haze and disorientation, you’d forgotten to. You didn’t actually realise it was silent until about two and a half hours into the ride, you’d been thinking so much.

When you went to the doctors last week for a persistent cough, you’d expected the medication they gave you and the reassurance that this winter was a bad one. What you didn’t expect was to also be ushered towards a hospital for a few scans. The first day off work since then you had was today. This morning you’d dressed quickly and for comfort, in a large knit sweater and yoga pants, hair pulled up. You drove yourself to the hospital where they did several scans, called in a specialist, and then led you into a white, sterile office. There the specialist informed you that you had stage 3B lung cancer and you had less than six months to live. It was very clean cut and straight to the point. Like a mass produced diagnosis rather than a personal one.

The first thing you’d thought while you were sitting in that office was that they had the wrong patient. They couldn’t possibly have been talking about you, no way. You had a cough. Sure, it had been going on for a few months but it wasn’t going to kill you. You told the doctors this and they explained how sometimes it doesn’t feel like you’re sick but it will soon. There was no mistake.

The familiar gravel appeared under your tyres much sooner than you had expected. And when did it get dark?

You pulled up next to Bobby’s truck, and sat for a moment, psyching yourself up for actually talking about it. You tugged on the anti-possession necklace Bobby had given you when you were young.

Just as you were about to get out of the truck, someone knocked on the window. It was loud and it startled you. And, hey that isn’t Bobby. 

You lowered the window instead of opening the door, figuring that it gave you a better vantage point. “Are you humming Kashmir?” He smirked.  
“Yes. It calms me down, and right now I’m not very calm.”  
“Oh! Strange man, darkness, truck.” He seemed to understand your anxiety and took a step back. “You’re (Y/N), right?” The man asked, half of his face shadowed by the darkness. But what you could see, you very much liked. He was chiselled and tan, green eyes that seemed even greener in contrast to the black rings around them.  
“What’s it to you?” You snapped.  
“Chill,” He raised his arms in a placating manner. “Bobby’s making food. He told me to help you bring in your stuff.” He looked past you at the stack of bags on the bench, and then at the bed of your truck where you’d thrown the rest. “It looks like you’ve got a lot. Name’s Dean.”  
“Winchester?” You’d heard stories from Bobby over the years about the Winchester boys. Truth be told, you were jealous of them, Bobby seemed much closer to them than he was to you.   
“Yeah. I’d really like to eat this century, so what do you need me to bring in? Anything else I can send Sammy to grab after dinner.” You opened the truck door and stepped out. Dean was surprisingly tall. And from what you’d heard, he was the short one. How tall must Sam be then?  
“Just this one is fine.” You pulled a black sports duffel bag out from the truck bench and handed it over to Dean. It was the bag that held most of your clothes. And you grabbed a backpack that held your phone, laptop, chargers for them and a few of your favourite novels. You locked up your truck and followed Dean into the house.

Bobby was standing over the stove, mixing something in a large pot which you hoped was Irish Stew. There was nothing better than Bobby’s homemade Irish Stew. It was wholesome, with that unexpected spice and it screamed ‘home’. “Found a straggler.” Dean announced, dropping your duffel on the couch.

Bobby spun around. He dropped the large wooden spoon he was holding, into the pot and reached out to envelope you into a hug. You pressed your face to his chest and wrapped your arms around him. 

“You don’t look sick.” Was the first thing he said to you when he stepped back. The scent of Irish Stew hit your nose as he moved, wafting it, and you salivated.   
“I don’t feel too sick right now either, but the doctors assure me that I am.”  
“Well, stew’s about done. Dean grab some bowls.” The old man ordered the younger one. Dean immediately grabbed four bowls from the cupboard. You weren’t really surprised at the familiarity he showed with the house. Apparently the Winchesters spent about as much time here as you did.

Sam appeared at the smell of food. You squeaked ungracefully at the sight of him, but he just gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
“Yeah… how tall are you? Was your dad a basketball player or something?” You burst out. The three men just laughed.  
“I’m six four, and no. He was a baseball player… before he was a hunter.” Sam steered you towards a seat where a bowl of the stew was placed in front of you.  
“Beer?” Dean asked you.  
“No thanks, but I’ll take a cherry coke if there’s one.” You smiled politely. Dean opened the fridge, grabbing three beers and one of the tins of cherry coke Bobby always used to get when he knew you were coming by.

Everyone was sat down and eating, except for Bobby. He had a bowl but it sat untouched in front of him. He was waiting for you to talk.

Your spoon clinked as you let it go in the bowl, leaning it up against the side. You took a long sip of the drink as you thought of what to say. Bobby liked honesty, and he appreciated when things were laid out clearly. Blunt honesty then. “I’m really sick.” You looked up at him, he was staring intently back at you. “I called you from the hospital earlier.” Bobby nodded, he’d assumed as much from the background noise. “I’ve got six months to live. Stage 3B lung cancer.” You watched as his grip tightened on his beer bottle. Both Winchester brothers turned to you, their features etched with sadness. “And I was hoping I could stay here, ‘cause I let my apartment lease run out.”  
“Of course you can stay here.” Bobby’s voice cracked. And that’s all it took for you to start crying.

Sam cleared up the bowls while Bobby held you as you cried. You were pretty sure he was crying too, but you thought if you saw him crying it would only make you cry harder. “There’ll be a way to fix this. I’ll find something.” He whispered in your ear. “You’re just a kid. Yer only twenty-four. You haven’t even lived.” Bobby kissed you on the forehead and then he retreated to his office, presumably to cry, drink and get started on the research in peace.

You grabbed your backpack and duffel bag and hiked up the stairs, fully prepared to crash. It had been an exhausting day.

But Dean Winchester was sat on your bed. “Aww… this is totally your room, right?” He asked, dropping his book to the bed. You nodded, not trusting your voice. “I’ll take the couch then.” He stood and picked up his own duffel bag.  
“This is where you stay when you’re here?” You asked, curious.  
“Yeah.”  
“Then it’s fine.”  
“What?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, confused.  
“It’s a queen, technically it’s your bed too. I’m not gonna kick you to the couch. Just… y’know, turn around for a minute.” Dean turned away at your words, facing the wall.

If you had been thinking, you would’ve changed in the bathroom, or taken the couch yourself. But you weren’t thinking. You unzipped your black duffel, pulling out your pajamas which consisted of a threadbare Iron Maiden top and soft short shorts. You changed quickly, leaving your underwear on underneath because you may have made some bad choices so far but you weren’t insane. “You can turn back.” Dean did, sitting back on the bed with his book after giving you a once over.

You blushed a little and climbed into bed. You made sure to stay on your side, pulling the covers up to your neck and closing your eyes.

Right as you were about to fall asleep, you started coughing. You spluttered, trying to keep from disturbing Dean, but then you were full on hacking up your lungs.

Dean pulled you to sit up, and you sat leaning forwards, coughing less now. It trailed off after a few moments. “Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.  
“I’m good now. Sorry.”  
“Don’t worry about it. You want me to grab you some water?”  
“If you don’t mind.” You nodded.  
“If I minded, I wouldn’t have offered.” Dean stood and left the room. You slid back down in the bed and waited.

You had decided a long time ago that life was too short to feel embarrassed around good looking people. Sure you didn’t advocate for them using their looks to get things, but it didn’t hurt anyone for you to look and appreciate their beauty. And boy was Dean beautiful.

When he came back, he passed you a glass of cold water. You took a few mouthfuls and set it on the bedside table next to you. Dean climbed back onto the bed and rested the book open on his chest. He turned to look at you. You turned to look at him.

Dean was handsome, obviously. But more than that, he was the epitome of beauty. His eyelashes fell gently on his cheeks, casting a soft shadow. Freckles dusted his face, making you think back to what your mother always said; “each freckle is an angel’s kiss”. Dean looked like he was studying your face also.

“I always wondered why the pillows smelt like girl shampoo.” Dean said after a long while. “I thought Sammy was fucking with me because I couldn’t find anything else in the house that smelt like them. But then after a while the smell went away.” You nodded.  
“We got into a fight about hunting. He didn’t want me to do it, didn’t want me dying.” You laughed dryly.  
“Did you listen to him?”  
“You mean am I a secret hunter? No. I got really into lore and even went so far as to get a degree in Mythology and Occultism. But I’ve never hunted anything. Anything supernatural anyway. Dad’s taken me hunting Bambi a few times.” Dean seemed satisfied that you were telling the truth. It would’ve been really easy to say you wouldn’t hunt and then turn around and do it. But you made a promise to yourself when you were a kid that you would never break your word, and never tell a lie. 

Dean picked up his book and continued to read while you slid down and pulled the covers over yourself. You realised, as you drifted off, that you recognised Dean’s scent as the faint scent that hovered around your room when you were a teenager. He smelt of leather, whiskey and gunpowder, but laced with apple pie and the smell of home.

You fell asleep with a smile on your face.

Something loud woke you in the middle of the night. It was loud and it was painful. When you opened your eyes, you realised it was you. You were coughing, leaning over the side of the mattress. 

Your whole body was moving, and your eyes were squeezing tears out. This didn’t happen a lot but when it did, it was better to just wait it out. You reached over and drank the rest of the water. And once you finished coughing, you turned to look at Dean. Hopefully you hadn’t woken him up.

But Dean was gone. The bed was still warm but it was empty.

You sighed. You probably woke him up and he’s gone to sleep on the couch. You decided then that you would take the couch on future nights because your coughing was only going to get worse and he was far too big (and too old) to sleep on the couch every night.

You took some deep breaths and then settled back into the bed. It was difficult getting back to sleep because every few minutes you felt like you needed to cough but you didn’t want the hassle of actually coughing so you breathed through the wheeze.

The door opened quietly. You weren’t asleep yet but your eyes were closed. You kept them shut but pretended to stretch in your ‘sleep’, your hand slipping under your pillow and around the hilt of your knife.

There was sniggering. “You’re very convincing. It’s quite natural, if not for the coughing and wheezing.” It was Dean. You opened your eyes but didn’t remove your hand from your knife.  
“I thought you went to sleep on the couch.”  
“I haven’t actually gone to sleep yet.” He was still standing by the door.  
“I’m so sorry. I can take the couch. I’ll just go-“ You swung your legs around and stood up, but as you did, Dean crossed the room. He stood right in front of you and he was pushing you gently back onto the bed.  
“It’s not because of you. I can sleep with AC/DC on turned up loud. I was actually doing some research with Bobby.”  
“You’ve got a case?” Suddenly you weren’t tired anymore. Dean chuckled at your excitement and sat next to you on the bed.  
“I was researching legitimate medical trials but Bobby was researching possible supernatural cures. We’re covering our basis.” He smiled sadly.  
“Oh.” Of course they were trying to save you. Sometimes you forgot that there were people that cared about you. “Read anything interesting?”  
“A few things, but mostly it’s really depressing.”  
“I can imagine it would be.” You were getting sleepy again. You pulled the covers over you and rolled so you were facing Dean. “Remi-“ You yawned. “Remind me to call my boss, and I gotta go to the hospital tomorrow.”  
“Sure. Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Dean pulled off his socks and jeans, and then got in next to you.   
“G’night Dean.” You said so quietly, you didn’t think he heard you. And then you were asleep again.

You decided that you didn’t want to sleep alone anymore; it was much better when there was another body. The bed was warmer and you were pretty sure Dean was a stealth snuggler.

Your eyes snapped open at exactly six am. It was routine. It was normal. But it was also incredibly infuriating. No one else was awake, so why the hell were you?

You took a moment to savour Dean’s arms wrapped around you, and then you replaced yourself with a pillow. He squeezed the pillow and frowned but didn’t wake up.

You stretched your limbs and then changed quickly. In your duffel bag was a pair of yoga pants and an oversized muscle top with the Adidas logo printed on the front. You stepped into a pair of running shoes and grabbed your phone.

Before you got sick, you used to run all the time. It was a good way to vent emotions. Since running you had around 88% less emotional breakdowns and random pissy moods.

You couldn’t run as fast or as far as you used to, but you enjoyed the burn in your muscles. Running also meant that you didn’t feel so bad eating an extra donut or making bacon with breakfast. God, that sounded good.

As your feet hit the familiar dusty ground and the cold air rushed past your face, you felt good. You followed the route you used to run and you felt alive.

But good things never last.

The worst pain you had ever felt, including that one time you had bleached your own hair back in college and ended up with a too strong formula, smoking hair, and bleach burns on your scalp for two months, soared through your chest. You were so surprised that you missed a step and ended up falling straight on your face.

You groaned into the dirt. 

And that was blood.

Oh God.

There was blood coming from your mouth. Was it actually coming from your mouth or from your lungs? Maybe you’d be okay if you stood up.

You stood up, it took ages but you managed to stand up, and then turned around to walk back to the house. You would be fine. And if you weren’t, you had a phone.

The way back took much longer but mathematically it made sense. Walking takes longer than running if the distance is the same.

As you rounded the house, three pairs of eyes turned to glare at you from the porch. “Hi guys.” You wheezed out.  
“(Y/N)!” Bobby scolded and you flinched. He was mad. “Where the hell were you?”  
“I was running. I always run. You know that.” You kept it to short sentences, he was more likely to understand through his rage cloud.  
“You shouldn’t be running!”  
“Well I know that now.” You said, frustrated, under your breath.

When you got closer to them, Dean noticed you limping slightly. He may have seen the pink tinge the blood left on your chin. He pulled you right up close to him and you held your breath instinctively. “What happened?” His arms were pressing tightly around your arms.  
“I fell. I’m fine.” You tried to pull back a little.  
“Hey. Cough for me.” He pulled a clean tissue from his back pocket and pressed it into your hand. You raised an eyebrow at him but coughed into the tissue anyway. You never expected big bad hunter Dean Winchester to be a mother hen.

But his face grew taught as he looked at the tissue. It was coated with blood. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He had that no nonsense tone.  
“I’m fine Dean. I fell and my mouth is bleeding.”  
“You’re not fine. You’re coughing up blood. And you said you needed to go to the hospital today anyway.” You couldn’t really doubt his logic there.  
“Okay. But let me shower and change first. I’ll be really quick.” You said. He gave a tight nod and then you escaped into the house and up the stairs.

You were pulling off your clothes in the hallway as you walked into your bedroom, not wanting to hold Dean up longer than necessary. You grabbed a towel and a soft hoodie with your change of clothes, and then walked across the hall in your underwear.

You stopped sharply when you realised that Dean was standing at the top of the stairs, staring directly at you. His eyes traced your bare skin and the black lace that covered some of it. He looked hungry. You almost moaned, but then realised ‘Hey, I’m dying. I shouldn’t be getting attached.’ You snapped out of it and opened the bathroom door.

The shower was probably the quickest shower you’d ever had because you kept thinking about Dean. He might have left, but you had a feeling he was standing directly outside the door. You brushed through your hair and got most of the water out with a towel, but left it down so it would air dry. You dressed quickly and then left the bathroom.

You were right.

Dean was waiting for you right outside the bathroom door. “You gotta do anything else or can we go?” He was really impatient.  
“You might want to grab your book.” When he raised his eyebrow in question, you elaborated. “They make you wait, you think you’re bored now.” 

Dean opened the bedroom door and grabbed his book. In the light of day you saw that it was ‘Breakfast of Champions’ by Kurt Vonnegut. You smiled. He didn’t seem like the type, but at the same time he seemed exactly the type.

You followed Dean down the stairs and then to the car. When you got into the passenger’s side, next to Dean, you looked behind you to see Bobby and Sam in the back. “A family trip to the hospital. Great.” You mumbled and let your face hit the cold glass. Your stomach rumbled. So much for bacon and donuts. You didn’t even get any coffee this morning.

Dean was listening to Led Zeppelin II, which is definitely the best Zeppelin album, but you were exhausted and hungry and grouchy. 

The drive to the hospital felt longer than it was with the tension coming from both Bobby and Dean. It wasn’t as busy as you’d thought it would be. “Hi, I just moved to town.” You were talking to the receptionist with your three large burly men standing behind you. “And I need to make an appointment with an oncologist, my records should be on the system. (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” You said. The receptionist started typing.  
“Yep, you’re records are here. Let me see… do you want an appointment for today?”  
“She does.” Dean cut in. You pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back just a little so he got the message.  
“Just as soon as possible please.” You said politely, smiling at the receptionist.  
“Looks like Dr Richards is available at eleven, you want me to put you down?”  
“Yes please.” You nodded and then the four of you headed back to the car.  
“What’re we gonna do for the next hour and a half?” Dean asked.  
“Eat.” You announced and Sam chuckled.

After gorging yourself on pancakes with maple syrup, bacon and a huge ice cream milkshake, Dean drove everyone back to the hospital. Instead of going to the main reception, you walked through the maze of hallways, following the ‘Oncology’ signs.

There was a separate cancer waiting area. You were the only ones there. You checked in and then sat down in an armchair. Dean opened up his book and both Bobby and Sam gave him strange looks but didn’t say anything.

A man in a suit without the jacket on came out of one of the offices and called your name. You stood, took a breath in and then walked towards him. “You can bring someone in if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.” He said, sensing your anxiety. You turned around to look at Bobby.  
“I’m no good at the medical stuff. You’d be better with Sam or Dean.” He said gruffly, but not unkindly. Sam probably understood this stuff better but Dean had actually spent his own time, unasked, researching. You turned to look at him.  
“Dean?” He stood so quickly that he dropped his book. He smiled crookedly and passed it to Sam before following you to the office.

“(Y/N),” Dr Richardson began when you sat on the sofa next to Dean. “I’ve looked over your medical records, but it says that your permanent residence is in Iowa. I presume you’ve moved nearby.” You nodded. “You’re looking for an oncologist in the area?” You nodded again.

Dr Richardson started to talk through your options which all ended with either finding a miracle cure or choosing a headstone and a nice plot at the local cemetery. Dean was unbelievably tense, so you slipped your hand in his. He relaxed a little.

“I want to make a list of your current symptoms so we can both see how the cancer is progressing and better predict how you will start to feel.”  
“Okay.” You nodded. “Coughing, obviously. Umm… sometimes I can’t catch my breath, my chest hurts. I think I’m generally exhausted as well.”  
“That all makes sense.” The doctor was typing up notes.  
“She was coughing up blood this morning.” Dean said.  
“I’m afraid because of the position of the tumour, that’s going to happen more often.” He explained and Dean’s face fell.  
“What can we do at home to help with the symptoms?” Dean asked. Home. That sounds nice.  
“Hydration. It sounds basic, but it will help ease the pain caused by coughing and it will minimise the blood coughed up. Light exercise is good. Quite a few cancer patients become depressed and the endorphins exercise releases tend to take the edge off.” You turned to stare at Dean. ‘See, running’s fine’ You thought loudly at him.  
“Doc, I assume a six mile run through the forest paths isn’t something that would fit under light exercise.”  
“No. Absolutely not.” Dr Richardson said, and Dean turned to smirk at you. “Maximum in your condition would be a two mile jog, but you’ll want to bring water with you in case you start coughing uncontrollably.”  
“Thanks doc.” Dean said. You knew he disapproved of you running but it wasn’t like you weren’t running back in Iowa. You ran a five mile circuit through the neighbourhood every morning and you never had any problems.

The rest of the appointment the doctor spent explaining the chemotherapy and radiation therapy you would have to undergo and then prescribing you medication and explaining what each one did. You thanked him and then stood and left when it was over. 

Sam and Bobby both stood when they saw you coming out. “We good?” Sam asked.  
“Yeah, just need to visit the pharmacy down the hall.” You said. Sam passed Dean his book and then the four of you headed down the hallway.

There was no line and the pharmacist looked happy to see somebody, you walked up and smiled. “Can I get this filled please?” You passed over the prescription the doctor had printed for you.  
“Sure thing.” The perky pharmacist disappeared into the back. She came out with three bottles of pills. You would only need to take one of them for the moment, and the other two would come later when you started chemo. You grabbed the drugs and turned around.  
“Lets go home. I need a nap.” You said.  
“Don’t forget to call your boss, sweetheart.” Dean said. At the nickname, Bobby furrowed his eyebrows and Sam smirked.  
“I’ll call later.”

Back at Bobby’s you grabbed a glass of water before heading up the stairs. You watched Dean grab a laptop and head to Bobby’s office. You pulled your hoodie off and then climbed into the bed, sighing as your face hit the marshmallow soft pillow. You wheezed for a while until it became just another background noise and you were able to get some sleep.

A hand gently shook you awake. “(Y/N)? Sam’s made lunch, do you want food or more sleep?” Dean asked quietly once you rolled over to face him.  
“Food sounds really good.” You croaked and stood slowly. Dean followed you down the stairs to where Sam and Bobby were sitting on the faded leather couch eating what looked like grilled cheese sandwiches.

Dean pushed you softly into the large armchair before he went to grab the two plates for each of you. He dropped down and sat by your feet, leaning against the armchair while everyone ate.

You wondered why he was being so protective of you. You barely knew him. But you were secretly glad that someone cared enough about you to be protective.

Dean shivered as you accidentally brushed against him. “Fuck you’re cold.” He said, standing and grabbing your now empty plate. When he didn’t come back straight away, you frowned. But then he appeared with a huge fluffy blanket you knew came from your closet. He wrapped it around you and you smiled. Dean resumed his place at your feet.  
“I thought I’d scared you off.” You said.  
“Nah, not me.” Dean said without turning his head. You saw Sam frowning.

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching movies with Sam and Dean while Bobby was working. Dean disappeared for a few moments and Sam spoke up. “I don’t like how quickly he’s getting attached.” He said. “I think you’re great, don’t get me wrong, but we’ve lost too many people. I don’t think Dean has it in him to lose someone else.” You didn’t say anything, just stared at Sam. Of course that made sense. The life of a hunter was solitary at best, filled with grief at worst. And it seemed like the Winchesters had their fair share of grief. “I don’t mean to sound like a complete dick, but it’s not you who’ll be picking up the mess.”  
“Maybe you should think about going back to hunting. I know you rarely stay here for longer than a night. If you think Dean’s getting too attached to me, you should take him back on the road.” As much as you didn’t want either of them to leave, Sam was right. This was only going to hurt them in the long run.   
“You’re probably right.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face.

When you went to bed that night, you heard whispered shouting between the brothers coming from downstairs. You guessed that Sam was trying to convince Dean to leave.

Then there was shouting, a door slamming, and then angry stomping up the stairs. You figured that it was Dean, he had more to be angry about. So you weren’t at all surprised when he threw open the door and stripped to his underwear, climbing into the bed behind you. “Everything okay.” You asked hesitantly. You rolled around to face him.

Dean seemed to calm at your presence which was weird because you thought that any kind of human interaction might add fuel to the fire. “Sam wants to leave.” No he doesn’t. You thought. He just wants you to leave. “I don’t want to.” Dean didn’t say any more than that. And he didn’t have to. That was enough.

After a while, he relaxed enough to fall asleep and you soon joined him.

The next week passed way too quickly as everyone fell into a routine. You and Dean would go jogging in the morning, him watching you critically, deciding a few times that you should cut the run short. At first you protested, but then you realised he was doing it because he worried about you, and so you allowed him to guide you back home a little earlier than you would’ve liked.

After the jog came breakfast which you and Dean made seeing as no one else was up yet. Dean would retreat to do some research after eating and showering. You would take a shower also and then deposit yourself on the sofa in Bobby’s office, reading some of the numerous books you brought with you while Dean read articles about lung cancer on Sam’s laptop.

Sam would make lunch and then you would all settle down to more movies or you would take a nap upstairs while Dean and Bobby did research and Sam did… something. You weren’t quite sure what Sam was doing. Maybe coming up with arguments for Dean to leave.

And then Dean or Bobby would make dinner, and one of the days they ordered pizza. After the food, you and Dean would settle into bed together. But it was on one of the nights where you headed up to bed a little earlier, sensing the tension rolling off of Sam as you guessed he wanted time to talk Dean into leaving.

You were lying in bed, waiting for Dean to come up, and selfishly hoping that he wouldn’t leave. Slowly and then all at once, it was like you were drowning. You were spluttering and coughing, trying desperately to get a breath. But the longer you laid there in the dark, the worse it got. You didn’t want to be a bother, but it was becoming far to difficult to stay conscious.

You pulled yourself out of bed and stumbled out of the bedroom, hurrying down the stairs. You crashed into the hallway, a pile of hardback books wobbling and then spilling over when you knocked it. The loud noises caused the brothers to rush to your side. “What’s happening?” Sam asked as Dean was helping you to stand.  
“Hos- hospital.” You managed to get out over your gasping. Dean nodded and led you quickly out of the house. He grabbed his car keys and then turned to Sam.  
“Wake up Bobby and then follow us.” He ordered Sam who just nodded and walked back into the house. “C’mon sweetheart, just focus on breathing.” Dean said as he helped you into the car. 

And then you were vaguely aware of Dean driving like a bat out of hell, trying to get to the hospital before you keeled over.

Your lungs were steadily filling with more and more fluid, you could sort of feel it. It was weird. And you were definitely losing consciousness.

Dean sounded panicked when you came to. You weren’t in the car anymore. Dean was carrying you, bridal style, running through the front door of the emergency room. “Please. I need help.” God he sounded so desperate. And broken. You understood now what Sam was warning you about earlier. But it was far too late. You’d only both gone and gotten attached. You pressed your head into Dean’s chest, eyes burning with tears. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta hang on until your dad finds a way to fix everything.” He stared down at you, eyes wide, begging you to keep holding on. You nodded and he seemed to relax a fraction.

You were eventually given a bed and there were a few doctors who decided to poke you with needles and attach tubes to your arms, but you were mostly out of it. Dean stayed by your bed the entire time though.

In a moment of peace, you felt him pull the covers up over you, and you realised you had been shivering. But you didn’t open your eyes. Dean pressed a kiss to your forehead and stroked your hair back. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes.” He said with conviction. He didn’t leave, which you were beyond grateful for because you’d heard stories about him selling his soul to save Sam. You hoped he didn’t do it for you, but the whole ‘whatever it takes’ cemented the idea that he would in your mind.

Though, when Sam and Bobby turned up, Dean left the room to have a heated argument with them. You blinked your eyes open, watching Dean repeat what the doctors had told him earlier; “Did another scan… metastasised… grown… a few days.” Bobby’s face turned hard and you tried really hard not to see how much it killed him to watch you die. But Sam immediately started to tear up. His lip wobbled and he pulled Dean into a hug.

You let out a breath because that was pretty much all you could do right now. And even that was hard. The doctors had made it so it wouldn’t get any worse, but it wasn’t getting any better either. Maybe if you had gone to the doctors a week or two earlier, you would’ve started chemotherapy and radiation therapy earlier, and maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would’ve happened anyway. Fate’s a bitch that way.

Sam and Bobby sat with you. Dean left and your stomach dropped. If it was your time, it was your time. It didn’t matter how scared you were or how much it hurt. Destiny wasn’t something to be messed with. You told this to Sam as Bobby slept in the chair next to you. “I don’t think he cares. He’s changed the course of things so many times. I tried to reason with him but he actually sounded a lot more logical than impulsive.” Sam said.  
“Logical? No. Logic is letting me die. Logic is not selling his soul or making a pact with the devil so I might live a few extra years but eventually be killed by something else because there is a freaking natural order.”  
“Dean should’ve died back in 2006 or 2007, I forget. Our dad made a deal. So the natural order is kind of screw-y when we’re around. Not to mention the amount of times he has died. He probably thinks that it won’t stick with him, but he’s willing to risk it anyway.”  
“I need you to call him for me. I don’t have my phone but he wouldn’t answer for me anyway.” You said, taking in everything Sam had said. ‘he’s willing to risk it anyway’. Why? Why would Dean do that?

Sam passed you the ringing phone. You brought it up to your ear. “Sam?” Dean’s voice asked. “Is (Y/N)… is she still…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.  
“It’s me, Dean.” He sighed a breath of relief.  
“Hey.” Dean sounded weary, like he was happy to hear from you but also convinced you’d try to talk him out of whatever crazy stunt he was trying to pull.  
“I believe in fate and destiny.” You said after a few moments of silence.  
“Well I don’t. I think we make our own destiny.”  
“Whatever they’re asking for in payment is too high of a price Dean.”  
“Nothing’s too high for your life, sweetheart.” He said quietly, but despite the volume it sounded like he wholeheartedly believed it.  
“Maybe not to you, but to me it is. Will they give you any time at all, or will it be deal and dead?” You began to sound bitter.  
“I don’t know. Usually the deal’s for ten years, but not for Winchesters. Last time it was a year, but for Dad… he didn’t get any time. Guess we’ll see in a few minutes how much they’re willing to give.”  
“You don’t deserve this Dean. You don’t deserve any of this. You only deserve good things for the rest of your life. Don’t waste it on me. Please.” Your voice cracked at your final plea. “You save people. You’ve saved the world. I can’t compare in moral virtue or righteousness. Our souls aren’t equally weighted. Don’t trade one for the other.”  
“I’ve let a lot of people die too.” He said, ignoring the second half of your speech.  
“As it is, I’m probably going to heaven. I mean… I haven’t done anything particularly bad. But if you do this, you’re damning yourself to hell… again. I can’t let you do that. Come back to the hospital. I still have a few more days left. All I need is for you to be here for the last few days.”  
“I…” His voice was cracking with emotion now too. “I can’t let you die too.”  
“Please Dean. Please come back to me.” You noticed that you were crying, and Sam was sitting in front of you crying as well as he listened to your side of the conversation. Bobby was awake and strangely, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.  
“Alright.” He blew out a breath and it sounded like he was crying now too. Everyone was crying.  
“I’ll be waiting.” You said softly and he hung up.

You stared at the phone for a minute and then passed it back to Sam. You fell asleep after all the emotional trauma of talking Dean off the ledge.

When you woke up, he was pressed up against you in the bed, snoring softly. You smiled.

———

Dean’s heart practically gave out when he heard the flatlining of the heart monitor. He burrowed his head into your neck and whimpered. And then he was being tugged from the bed by Sam as the doctors and nurses rushed in to perform a code.

They shocked you and did chest compressions and then shocked you some more. But your heart decided that enough was enough. One of the doctors called time of death.

Dean sunk to his knees and let out a heart wrenching wail. Before Sam could reach him, Bobby wrapped his arms around his adopted son. Dean gripped on tight, sobbing with his whole body. Snot was running and tears were flowing but he didn’t care. 

All Dean knew was that he had a chance to stop this from happening but he didn’t take it. It didn’t matter in that moment that he was following your wishes, all he knew was that it didn’t have to end this way.


End file.
